The waiter magically appears, wanting to know if we have any questions, are we ready to order, do we want something else to drink? Lisa orders a dirty martini. I say water’s fine. The restaurant may have a family-friendly vibe, but they also have a giant bar covered with TVs, all of them tuned to ESPN.
“It’s important that he’s able to tell his side of the story,” I say when the waiter leaves. “There are three sides to this experience. Mine, Monroe’s, and Will’s. I think Eth—Will must have a lot to say.” I wince at my near slip, but she doesn’t seem to notice. I push forward so I don’t give her a chance. “I’m guessing he’s reluctant because he’s probably afraid he’ll look guilty.”
Lisa’s gaze is steady as she watches me. “Is he guilty?”
I hate that she asked that question. It infuriates me, how so many people automatically assume he’s a monster like his father. “No,” I say vehemently, shaking my head. “He is one hundred percent innocent. He saved me. I told you this before.”
“Have you searched his name online? Seen what people say about him on crime forums?” Lisa asks.
My irritation grows. Of course I have. It’s hard to believe, but there are forums for anything you could ever think of. There are entire sub-forums dedicated to Aaron Monroe and his crimes. Discussions abound about his son’s involvement, whether he’s innocent or not. Most of the chatter had died down over the years, but with my recent television interview and the upcoming interview with Aaron Monroe himself, the interest has resurged.
Especially because William Monroe hasn’t been found—until now.
“I know what they say. But none of it is true.” I lean forward, desperate to get my point across. “He saved my life. I don’t know how many times I can say that. The only reason I’m here, that I’m alive, is because of Will Monroe. And I will only do this interview if he participates. Otherwise, it’s not going to happen.”
The dirty martini is set in front of Lisa and she thanks the waiter before he leaves. She reaches for the olives skewered on a toothpick, pulling them out of the glass and popping one in her mouth. She’s contemplating me. Possibly trying to make me feel uncomfortable with her interview stare—we’ve all seen it on television at one time or another, but it’s different to actually face it.
But I’m not falling for her tactics. I’m standing firm on wanting Ethan involved in this interview. I don’t know how he’ll feel about taking part in it, but I don’t really care.
He needs to be there.
Last time I saw him I pushed him away, yet here I am, dragging him back in. There’s a method behind my madness, though. A plan to set into motion, and I hope it works. I think it will, but as always, I’m unsure.
When does anything ever work out in my life?
“I’ll see what I can do,” Lisa says after she swallows the olive. “I’d love to have both you and Will participating in this interview. It would be the coup of a lifetime.”
Her blatant admission doesn’t faze me. I rise from my chair, my purse slung across my shoulder once more as I smile down at her. “Call me and let me know how it pans out.”
I start to walk away when she calls my name, halting my progress. Slowly I turn to find her coming toward me, right there in the middle of the restaurant, seemingly not giving a crap whether anyone recognizes her or not. Me? No one knows who I am. It’s amazing how even after appearing on a national network, no one seems to recognize me. Ever.
I prefer it that way.
“Do you realize that he doesn’t live that far from you? Will,” she says when I look at her blankly. “That’s really why I’m here. To chase the both of you down.”
Her honesty is admirable. I purposely keep my expression as neutral as possible. “One down, one to go?” I ask.
“Exactly.” She smiles, pleased that I’m not upset, I’m sure. “I’ll give Will a call, tell him you want to see him. That you want to thank him for all that he did for you.” Lisa pauses, gauging my reaction no doubt. “Do you mind if I say that?”
I’m frozen, unsure of how to react, what to say. Come on too strong and I look suspicious. No reaction at all and she’ll suspect something’s up, too. “I don’t mind. But tell him . . . tell him that I miss him.”
Lisa tilts her head to the side, contemplating me. “Rather strong words, don’t you think? Were you really that close to him? You spent what, a couple of hours together total? Almost ten years ago, during a very traumatic and life-altering time of your life. How can you even remember him?”
She’s already digging. But she’s always digging, so I shouldn’t be surprised. “I’m closer to him than anyone else I’ve ever met,” I tell her before I turn and head for the front door of the restaurant.
Lisa doesn’t follow, doesn’t say another word, and I make my escape, thankful for the fresh breeze that washes over me when I emerge outside. My plan is in place.
Now I can only hope that Ethan will agree.
The restaurant is small, a breakfast house that’s mostly empty because it’s close to noon. They serve lunch, too, but that’s not what people come here for.
Not that I have an appetite. I’m too damn nervous to consider eating.
I walk inside, see her in the last booth that bumps against the wall, sitting so she faces the doorway. She lifts her hand in greeting, but otherwise there’s no expression. She looks stiff. Worried.